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Chapter 25

Acts of Vengeance, part 5


The other X-Men waited for Hank to finish what he needed to do before attempting to get an explanation. He was obviously lost in his own thoughts and seemed desperate to complete his task as quickly as he could. With the medicine administered Hank withdrew the needle and let out a long, haggard breath. He stared at his unconscious friend with a silent prayer, then shook his head in disbelief at what could have been an enormous and negligible oversight. He finally turned around to address the others who were still waiting for an answer. "I can’t believe… I forgot," McCoy said vaguely, pushing his glasses higher onto his nose. "I completely overlooked it. My stars, how in the world could I?"

"What is it, Hank? What did you overlook?" Scott pressed him patiently.

"The adamantium," Hank offered cryptically, then added. "The only reason Wolverine survived the whole adamantium bonding process, in the first place, was because of his highly accelerated ability to heal."

"We know that," Cyclops told him. Hank shot him a look of irritation at the interruption of his thoughts and decided their leader needed a little more enlightenment.

"Well, it is also the only thing that has kept him alive since," he remarked rather bluntly. There were a few things that Hank knew about Logan’s situation that the others may have never even considered, not because they were indifferent to his condition, just uneducated regarding it. "Logan's healing factor has been forced to work diligently, twenty-four hours a day, every single day, to ward off the poisoning effects of having a hundred pounds of metal inside his body. If he's ever caught without his power to help combat it, the adamantium begins to poison his system and starts to show its affects within twelve to fifteen hours after his healing factor shuts down. Anytime his powers are depleted or suppressed the threat of him succumbing to adamantium poisoning becomes an all too real possibility."

"How do you know about this?" Scott asked. "We never would’ve thought of that."

"It stands to reason. It is the same effect as any one of us contracting lead poisoning, only on a grander scale. Metal is metal, no matter the compound, and it’s not meant to be inside our bodies," Dr. McCoy explained. "I do remember asking Logan about it right after he came to us. He was very wary about telling me and it was quite obvious he would have rather had said nothing at all and asked that I not make it public knowledge. I didn’t agree with his request, but nonetheless he made me promise to keep the information to myself."

"Why didn’t he want us to know?" Scott asked. His tone reflected that he was more than a little hurt that none of the other X-Men had been privy to this potentially life saving and life threatening information.

"Because," Hank explained quietly, "it’s information that could be used against him." He removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes.

"We would never use something like that against him," Scott rebuked.

"Of course not. He knows that… now," Hank nodded. "You have to understand he told me this a long time ago. So long ago, in fact, that I'd forgotten all about it." Hank donned his glasses once more and looked at Logan’s pale, lifeless face. "When he finally revealed the information to me he seemed… ashamed."

"Ashamed? Why?" Ororo asked with concern.

"Because it had been used against him… many times." Hank paused to take a deep breath, not sure if he'd said too much already.

"Go on, Hank," Charles encouraged. He could feel McCoy's turmoil. He'd made a promise - an oath of trust - a trust he was now breaking, but the burden of carrying such information alone was now weighing heavily on the mighty Beast’s heart.

"Those monsters involved in the government’s super soldier programs and experimental projects - most specifically the ‘Weapon X Program’ - used to slap a suppression collar around his neck whenever he had the audacity to resist their brainwashing attempts and mind-tampering exploits." There was an unusual hint of anger in McCoy's tone as he spoke, remembering the things Logan told him. "With his powers suppressed, they’d let him suffer the effects of the poisoning until he became so sick and weak… until he no longer had the strength to fight back... nor had he the mental faculties to resist them."

The X-Men were quiet as they listened to what Hank was telling them. As he continued on, the details of the information the good doctor was relaying for them kept them silent in thought as they each began to contemplate the hardships in their own lives. Comparing the mistreatments placed upon themselves by others to the atrocities committed against Logan in the name of science or national defense or whatever other excuse ever given to justify his treatment was... incomparable actually. The training and conditioning that had turned Logan into the man known as Wolverine... and beyond that. The physical and psychological torture and humiliation, the mind manipulation, the memory tampering and the physical alterations forced upon him, to turn "The Wolverine" into the world’s most feared assassin, known as 'Weapon X'.

Hank also became quiet as he sank deeper into his own thoughts remembering the things that Logan had confided in him. Things about himself he entrusted to no one else, but McCoy needed to share that information now. He needed them to understand and he knew they wanted to understand what made Logan the man he once was and sometimes still is. He wanted them to be aware of the level of determination that Logan possessed to be able to overcome those things that had turned him into a madman -- a living, unstoppable weapon of destruction. He wanted them to know how, through his own commitment and strength of will, he was able to persevere and become the man he is today. As Hank's thoughts flowed through his own images of the events he now spoke of, one image suddenly appeared vividly in his head. He had not been there to witness the actual event but the image of what Logan had shared with him remained strong to this day. Hank turned to the others and his voice hitched as he asked them a question. "Did you know… that the guards who were assigned to keep an eye on him would use him for target practice just to keep themselves from getting bored?" he asked, not expecting an answer and not getting one.

Scott, Jean and Kurt furrowed their brows, frowning in disdain. Rogue hung her head and closed her eyes, trying to shut out that particular image as she leaned heavily against Remy. Bobby hung on his every word with morbid fascination and Warren looked at Logan silently, then back to Hank. Charles watched his X-Men's reactions as he rested his chin on his hands which were clasped in front of him.

"Yeah," Hank continued with a sorrowful nod and it hurt him to say the words that followed. "They’d get bored... and Logan would here them laughing with their whispered secrets beyond the bars of his cell and then he'd hear them pull the bolts back on their weapons…" He stopped abruptly unable to describe each and every action and he was sure the others could fill in the blanks themselves, then he continued, "he'd watch them from his cell knowing what was about to happen and he couldn’t stop them. There was nothing he could do. He had no place to go… nowhere to run... no place to hide.
"Often times, he’d be sound asleep in a corner and would awaken to the sound of the rifles being locked and loaded," McCoy continued, almost robotically, as he recalled that day Logan sat atop the hospital bed and revealed his humiliating secret to the large blue doctor. "He told me how he would get to his feet quickly hoping for at least the chance to prepare himself for what was about to happen. He’d just stand there, staring at them… waiting."

"How could he just stand there?" Kurt asked, his voice sounding small. Hank shrugged and shook his head with sorrow.

"He stopped trying to talk them out of it after the first couple of times. They would only laugh at him anyway, taunting and insulting him, using anti-mutant slurs." Hank paused to reflect on that, then added thoughtfully, "I can only imagine the level of fear that Logan experienced at those moments." He confessed and then his own anger at the very thought of such an act began to show. "He’d just stand there! Staring at them!" McCoy nearly shouted before catching himself, suppressing his own anger at the injustice before continuing. "All he could do was try to prepare himself for the pain he was about to experience again and again… and again."

"My God," Rogue could barely whisper as she took Gambit’s hand in her own. Hank continued relaying the horrific details of Logan’s former life, his voice sounding detached as the memory of what Logan had told him came back to him in vivid detail.

"They would take turns emptying the loaded rounds into him. Oh, they’d give him just enough time to recover in between, of course… after all, they didn’t want to kill him," he remarked scornfully. "Then it would start all over again and they laughed and made jokes as he writhed on the floor in pain." Hank’s anger began to grow again with every word he spoke. "They invaded his body with hundreds of bullets just to keep themselves entertained! It certainly didn’t matter to them that Logan could feel the pain of each and every bullet piercing his flesh and exploding as they entered his body… ricocheting off bones and tearing his insides to shreds!" Hank stopped again, as he needed to calm himself. He didn’t mean to be so graphic especially in front of the ladies, but even as he paused, he remembered Logan’s description of that particular memory and, oddly enough, Hank realized he'd never once lingered on the memory of the physical pain. "He told me… how his ears ached with the sound of gun fire ringing in his head. The odor of the shells blasting from the gun barrels stinging his senses. His feelings of despair and hopelessness turning to rage… the coldness of the damp cement against his face as he curled up on the floor in pain… the warmth of his own blood on his hands, the smell of it triggering the berserker inside him. Dazed, wounded, humiliated and alone… he could hear their comments and their laughter as they encouraged others in their ranks to take part… ‘in the fun'." As Hank finished relaying the heinous actions of the military minions, Ororo took Logan’s hand in her own as her tears flowed.

"How absolutely alone he must have felt," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

Remy put his arm around Rogue, pulling her in close to him protectively. She could still feel the residual effects of Logan’s life force, still strong and vivid. She didn’t let on about it, but she could actually ‘feel’ the memory and the pain that Hank was now speaking of. She'd even lifted from him those unusually keen senses. She'd done that before and she loved it... and that scared her a little. As she sat there listening to Hank, Rogue looked around the room. She couldn’t help but revel in these extraordinary gifts - secretly of course - for Logan's visual perceptions were absolutely phenomonal.
Of course, Wolverine saw the world in three dimensions just like everyone else... but it was the clarity of those dimensions that amazed her and intrigued her to the point of wishing she didn't have to "give it back" to its rightful owner. The only way Rogue could think to describe it would be to compare it to those 3-D movie glasses you get at the theatre, but still that would not be an accurate description.

Everything in the room stood out as if floating above the background scenery. Horizontal surfaces along with their supporting structures seemed to stretch toward her. She could almost feel the textures of the wallpaper and the curtain and the knitted blanket, as well as the smooth, icy coolness of the sterile counter tops, without ever having to touch them. Lines were more distinct, corners seemed sharper and shadows were darker. Every single thing in the room was more distinct, the separation of lines was more exact and the depth of every object was augmented. Even two-dimensional objects sprang out at her, which by their very definition she thought impossible. Colors were brighter and gave those particular objects a depth of their own.

As Rogue scanned the room, she noticed a poster-sized chart on a wall near the medical cabinet and how the once-normal colors, now almost-neon, sprang out at her. Although the white background appeared normal enough, even with the enhancements, it was the words on the poster that captivated her interest. They seemed to actually float above the paper as if a separate entity in itself and each color presented differently than the next. The red letters appeared to hover about an inch above the paper, but the blue ones seemed to float about six inches above, giving the two-dimensional poster a very three-dimensional appearance. His depth perception was absolutely extraordinary and she realized this is what enables Wolverine to see the slightest movements from great distances.
As Rogue continued to scan the room she noticed another chart on the opposing wall. This one had a blue background to it and again the red letters seemed to float above the suface, but the white letters looked as if they were actually indented an inch or more into the paper. She really hated to admit it, but she felt exhilarated; she always did when she absorbed Wolverine’s powers. His body mechanics sent her adrenaline soaring and she felt so alive and so full of energy and she scolded herself silently for enjoying it so much.

That wasn't all there was to it though. She could hear the heart beat of every person in the room and each one was as different and distinct as their owners' physical appearance. Rogue was sure that, if given the time and opportunity, she'd be able to learn to recognize and identify each of her teammates simply by the rate and depth of their heartbeat. She could also distinguish each person’s physical scent along with the mellow aroma of sorrow, the tangy odor of fear and the bitter scent of anger. The scents mingled together in the room and yet each remained sharp enough to identify separately. 'No wonder he never seems to miss a thing.'
Everything was so… in your face, she couldn’t ignore it even if she tried. It all felt as brand new and exciting as the very first time she'd ever lifted Logan's powers. She felt a twinge of envy stir inside her when she realized it would soon fade and belong once again only to him. She hated herself for feeling that way. What she reveled in as something glorious, as something to be coveted, was the essence of another living soul. Logan depended on these gifts for his very survival and she rejoiced in them as if she were a child playing with a new toy.
She was angry with herself, knowing Logan had been mistreated because others coveted these very things. They were part of his animal nature, the primitive beast that lurked within him, the frenzied berserker whom he fought to defeat. These gifts were a constant reminder to him that he was not purely human. He was more than that, but Logan believed they made him less than that. Those doctors had done everything they could to make him believe he was much less than that too.

As X-Men, they all knew first hand how much society hated and feared mutants. Most of them had experienced mistreatment or injustice, in one form or another, as a result of their mutations. They were also well aware that Logan had lived a much harder and more violent life than any they had ever experienced, but these things that Hank was now telling them… That… that was beyond cruel.

Every one of them could visualize the scenes being described, as hard as they tried not to. Trying to put themselves in the same position, they could only guess at the excruciating pain and mind-numbing fear that Logan had to face as pieces of his body were torn away with each pull of a trigger. And the hardest part of it all, was accepting the fact that there really were people out there who enjoyed doing such things to mutants. Jean shrank back against Scott, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable. Bobby and Kurt were silent, thinking each to himself, how he used to wish he could be more like Wolverine and they each felt shame as they silently took back that wish.

They all knew that what Hank was now telling them was only one example of the atrocious acts committed against Logan in the hands of the government. This had been his life. He'd experienced these atrocities first hand and survived. Yet, they as his teammates could barely stand to just listen to the details as Hank recounted them and to their dismay he wasn’t quite finished yet. "When they'd finally get bored with that," McCoy continued, "they’d drag him to his feet and chain his arms and legs against the wall of his cell. They would chastise him for getting his blood all over their nice clean uniforms as they wiped their bloody hands on his face and in his clothes and hair…" Hank had to stop himself, thinking, ‘How could I have forgotten this?’

"They wiped their blood on his face?" Kurt asked incredulously and Hank looked up at him.

"Not their blood, Kurt… his," Hank corrected. "They’d act as though he'd gotten it on them on purpose, as if he had the choice... and his punishment? They’d run him through with a bayonet." Rogue shook her head sadly and swallowed hard, she was feeling sick.

"God Almighty," she whispered and Gambit curled his lip in disgust, pulling her closer.

"He remembers that?" Bobby asked. Hank nodded and looked down at Logan.

"He remembers the pain and the humiliation of it. They would leave him chained to the wall, barely able to stand. They’d beat on him, kicking him in the face and chest until he finally collapsed from exhaustion. They'd let him fall to the floor barely conscious, but he was aware of them spitting on him as they left the room."

"How could they get away with that?!" Jean asked and Hank shrugged his shoulders.

"He heals rapidly, leaving no wounds or scars. There was no physical evidence of mistreatment whatsoever. Nothing, that any bleeding heart liberals within the system could use to prove abuse or to justify removing him from the projects." Hank sighed heavily knowing Logan had entrusted him with his ‘shameful little secret’ and McCoy realized that he'd revealed much more than he originally had intended to. He couldn't help it though, he couldn't stop himself once he got started and he couldn’t help but feel relief for having shared what he knew. ‘Forgive me, Logan.’ As his feelings of guilt passed Dr. McCoy realized he'd gotten way off track and quickly came back to the subject at hand.
"Anyway, this..." he said, raising the syringe in reference, "diminishes the effects of the poisoning to his system. Pushes it back as it were, giving him time to recover until his healing factor can take over that burden again."

"So right now, he's basically fighting a 'Catch Twenty-two'… so to speak," Scott ventured.

"Precisely," Hank nodded. "The severity of the leg wound exhausted his healing capabilities leaving him susceptible to the poisoning. Now his healing factor can’t recover because it’s almost immediately exhausted trying to battle the poisoning before it can turn its attention to his other wounds. This serum attacks the poison already in his system, giving his healing factor time to regain its full strength." Jean came to him and carefully took the syringe from his hand, studying it closely for a moment.

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

"There were several containers of it found at the compound years ago when the Weapon X Programs were first shut down. An officer of the S.H.I.E.L.D agency confiscated a few boxes of the vials. Two of the boxes were destroyed before he could get them into Logan's possession."

"Fury," Scott guessed with an ironic smirk.

"Yes," Hank confirmed, "and because it is the last surviving sample, I'd made sure to keep it safe from harm by keeping it as far from everyday handling as possible. Unfortunately, over the years it'd subsequently been shoved so far to the rear of the refrigerator that... well, "out of sight, out of mind". Fortunately, it has an extremely long shelf life. The properties have yet to be broken down to the point of inactivity and tests show every indication that the serum will most likely outlast Logan himself." Hank managed an ironic grin.

"How often does he need the injections?" Jean asked, still feeling quite shaken by Hank's tale of torture.

"At least every twelve hours. I’ll go over the specifics with you before I leave," McCoy replied and Jean nodded. Behind her Scott turned to Warren.

"A lot of baggage, huh?" he asked in a tone not meant to be sarcastic. Warren looked at Scott seriously and for a moment Cyclops thought that perhaps Beast's words had shaken Angel's dark view of Wolverine. Then Warren set his jaw hard and scowled as he drew in a deep breath. He then turned abruptly and strode out of the room as if he had somewhere more important to be at that very moment. Scott shook his head as he watched him go.


~*~*~* Somewhere in the city *~*~*~


Victor was not in the best of moods this morning; he'd barely had the chance to finish his breakfast when one of Wraith's minions came into the cafe' again. As he slammed through the office door he was greeted by the Colonel's raised hand. He was standing behind his desk with a serious expression as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the phone line. Wraith gestured for Creed to take a seat on the couch across from him as he finished the seemingly unpleasant phone call.

"Yes, sir, I understand. Yes, sir, but," Wraith was cut off yet again by the voice on the other end of the line. Creed sat quietly, almost amused at his commander's forced submission to his own commanding officers. "But, sir, we can handle this oursel... yes, sir. Yes, sir."

Creed always hated this part of being in the military; this hurry-up-and-wait bullshit. He glanced around the room, noticed there was nothing different about it since the last time he'd been here and proceeded to pick whatever lint he could find off his clothes. He let out a sigh and heard a click from far away. He looked up to see Wraith staring at him, still holding the phone with it's dead line to his ear.

Victor waited and stared back at the colonel as Wraith slowly lowered the handset to it's cradle. He watched as the other man searched blindly in this pockets for a cigar, finally realizing he didn't have one on him Wraith reached for the box on his desk. Creed couldn't imagine what had Kestrel so uptight and watched with great interest as he distractedly prepared and lit the stogey.
Taking a long pull from the cigar, Wraith let the smoke out and his eyes shot to Creed. Victor raised his eyebrows and sat forward on the couch. After a moment more, John Wraith finally spoke.

"They're activating The Guardian," he informed Creed. That information surprised Sabretooth as well and he shot up from the couch.

"What? Why?" he asked, nearly demanding an answer and Wraith glared at him.

"Why do you think??"

"We don't need The Guardian! We can do this ourselves!" Victor shot back at Wraith.

"I told him that! They're tired of the delays... and the foul ups," he informed his subordinate, glaring at him. It was Creed's foul up that put them behind schedule and it was Creed's foul up that allowed Weapon X to escape from the compound months before. "They no longer trust that you can handle this mission to the parameters they set for us."

"I can do this! Tell them to call off The Guardian."

"I can't. It's already done. He will bring Weapon X to us and we will transport him back to Canada with no further interruptions. Is that understood?"

Creed knew he'd gone too far this time. How was he going to make this one right? He would have to beat The Guardian to the target, that was all. Somehow... he had to get to Wolverine before The Guardian did. His mind was reeling with the implications of what they were about to face. This had always had the potential to be really bad, but... The Guardian? He never thought they'd bring him in on this. Shit.....

Wraith watched Sabretooth for a moment. It made him feel a little bit better that Creed appeared even more upset by the news than he was. He looked nervous, really nervous, he was starting to sweat and his eyes darted around trying to keep up with his thoughts. Satisfied that Sabretooth appeared to understand he was now out of the picture as far as trapping Wolverine goes he let the man take his leave.

"You're dismissed, Victor."

Creed looked up at him, his face deeply etched with serious concerns. He furrowed his brow at his commander, not having heard him clearly and grunted in question.

"Dismissed," Wraith repeated, then sat down behind his desk. Creed watched him for a moment then began to move slowly toward the door. As he turned the knob and began to open it he stopped and spoke without turning around.

"Kestrel, I could..." he tried and was cut off by Wraith.

"Do nothing, Victor," the colonel replied almost too quietly and Sabretooth looked over his shoulder at him. Wraith raised his eyes to make sure he had Creed's attention. "Do nothing. If you jeopardize this mission again... I'll kill you myself."

Wraith went back to the files on his desk as if Creed wasn't even in the room any longer. Victor stood at the open door contemplating what his next move should be... if any. Then with his decision, Sabretooth narrowed his eyes at Wraith with a snarl. He pulled the door all the way open and marched out of the room and down the long hall to the elevator. He had his own mission now and heaven help anyone who tries to get in his way.



*~*~* Back at the mansion *~*~*

As he regained consciousness, Logan’s mind reeled with confusion and uncertainty. The lines between past and present intermingled. Memories and memory-implants converged, mixed and disappeared only to be replaced with other images that appeared and disappeared in dizzying fashion. They swirled in front of his vision, his mind’s eye trying to focus on the present only to be pushed aside by images from the past. Or was it the past? Maybe the past is now. Maybe these other images are unreal. Maybe it’s just his mind’s way of escaping his torment - by producing images of a more pleasant reality; one of friendship and trust… and hope. A reality where he knows compassion and comfort and love, but those images were surreal, they had to be fake.

His head ached, his bones hurt, his blood burned and his skin was pierced with needles. His hands were restrained, his face was covered by a mask, he could hear beeping sounds…monitors, he could hear muffled voices discussing his condition…
His wounded mind made its decision. He was most definitely in The Lab, that government sanctioned torture chamber. That was his only reality.

*~*~

"Fever’s down," Hank stated. Placing his hand on Logan’s forehead he was relieved to find it cooler to his touch.

"Finally," Jean replied wearily. It was morning again and she and Hank had taken turns throughout the night monitoring Logan’s condition. Hank had been on duty to administer the second injection of the anti-poison around ten last night, when Bobby and Kurt had come to check on him accompanied by their Russian-born teammate, Peter Rasputin. He'd been on an overnight R&R when the attack on Storm and Wolverine had taken place and on his return to the mansion he learned of the attacks and insisted on seeing Logan.

Around ten-thirty, half an hour after Hank had given Logan the shot, his fever spiked to 106.4 and he was wracked with fever convulsions. Luckily for Hank, the three men were present when Logan’s convulsions began. They began without any warning and were violent and shocking. Everyone moved quickly and Hank needed Peter and Kurt's assistance to hold him down. Bobby helped by creating a thin layer of frost to encase Logan’s body in to try to reduce the fever. He was careful to keep the icy layer on top of the sheet that covered him to avoid direct contact with Logan’s skin. With his body at such a high temperature Iceman was well aware that he could shock Logan’s system into cardiac arrest. As it was, Bobby found he needed to maintain a certain amount of vigilance, for Logan’s body radiated enough heat to keep melting the icy cast he had created. It took a while, but he finally accomplished his goal.
Once his temperature was lowered to a safer level, Hank stripped the soaked sheet from Logan’s body so he wouldn’t get chilled, then replaced it with a clean dry one. Fortunately for them the remainder of the night was uneventful and Dr. McCoy hoped that whatever brain cells had been killed during the seizure would be attended to when Wolverine's healing factor recovered.

*~*~

That morning, right after breakfast, Jean had come to the infirmary to relieve Hank. He filled her in on the previous night’s events as she gave Logan a third shot. Now, twenty minutes later, Logan began to stir. Every now and then he let out a low moan and his arms and legs tried to move about restlessly. "Is he coming around or just dreaming?" Jean asked McCoy.

"Both, I would imagine," he replied, then shook his head slowly and added, mostly to himself, "He’s put up an incredible fight through this entire ordeal."

"But the injections are helping, right?"

"I do believe so. He’s showing improvement," Hank assured her. The doors of the infirmary hissed open and Charles entered followed by Scott and Ororo.

"Good morning, Henry."

"Good morning, Professor," Hank greeted, then raised his eyebrows and peered at Ororo over the rim of his glasses. "I trust everyone had a chance for a restful night’s sleep." It wasn’t a question, it was more a demand. Ororo smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"A better night’s sleep," she answered honestly. It was difficult to sleep straight through the night after all that had happened. She still couldn’t believe this all started with a wonderful outing. She was allowed to share a perfect day out with Logan, they talked intimately and had made each other laugh. They even flirted with the idea of flirting. It had been a great day… until Sabretooth destroyed it, nearly destroying them in the process. She was trying so hard to keep the memory of the way he was that day, as care free as she had ever seen him and Ororo hoped that she would have the chance to see him like that again. She feared, though that would be a long time in coming after this.

"What is the status of Logan’s condition?" Charles asked, bringing Storm back to the moment and getting straight to the matter. Hank could see that the professor was not here for idle chit-chat, so he filled them in on the activities of the past night, finishing with his observations throughout the early morning.

"He’s been restless this morning. His fever did peak last night, but is only slightly elevated at this time. After his convulsive episode I set up the other monitor to record his brain activity," he picked up a piece of the recording tape and handed it to Charles for his inspection. "As you can see, activities range from minimal during periods of rest… to bouts of exaggerated activity during periods of restlessness."

"Has he regained consciousness?" Charles asked as he scrutinized the readout.

"Not as yet, although it does appear as if he may be trying to fight his way out," McCoy offered as an observation and Charles frowned as he studied the readout, consumed in thought. After a few moments he made a decision and offered his solution; one that no one was comfortable with.

"Perhaps I could guide him out," he said pensively and Jean's eyes widened.

"You’d have to go inside his head."

"Yes, I know."

"Charles!" Ororo jumped in. "You can’t. You know how Logan feels about you…"

"I do, Storm," he nodded, then paused to look at the readout again, "but I need to know what’s going on in there." Charles handed her the tape and Ororo took it from him.
When she saw the drastic changes of recorded brain activity from one hour to the next and in some cases one minute to the next, she understood the professor's concern. She didn’t like the idea though. Logan had made it quite clear, numerous times, that he didn’t want anyone getting inside his head, especially without his consent. Storm frowned at the readout, unable to deny the implications of what it was showing them. There were more things at risk here than Logan would probably understand and after some discussion Hank and Jean also concurred with the professor's view.

Ororo moved to Logan's side, to lend as much emotional support and comfort as she could as Charles closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath he tried to relax. He was nervous, not only about going against Logan’s wishes, but nervous about what he would see if he actually got inside that tortured mind.
He reached out cautiously and found it surprisingly easy to access Logan’s mind. His defenses were down, which had to be due to his condition. Usually it was difficult and sometimes extremely painful to even attempt such a task with Wolverine’s tormented psyche.
Once inside, Charles began a slow and systematic search through the darkness of Logan’s mind. Slowly, images began to appear in front of him, most of them dark and dangerous. Some held visions of incomprehensible acts - some committed against Logan, others committed by him - and some were so gory that Charles was forced to turn away from the sight.

Other images, fewer by far, were visions of friends and loved ones, past and present, comforting and loving and reassuring. These images were outnumbered a good twenty to one and, even inside Logan's own mind, the destructive images surrounded the loving ones and devoured them over and over again, seemingly hunting them down and destroying them, then they would appear somewhere else in Logan’s consciousness. It seemed peculiar to Charles to watch these ‘loving memories’ as they consistently had to evade the ‘destructive’ ones, fighting for their own survival, trying to remain ‘alive’ within Logan’s mind. It appeared to Charles as though Logan’s mind was actually programmed to delete memories of any pleasant or loving moment and, try as they might, the dark images just couldn’t get an advantage over a certain number of the brighter ones. To him, it was evident that Logan was doing all he could to defeat his darker side and the programming that took years for the government to accomplish.

Xavier reminded himself to exercise the utmost caution, for he was committing what Logan would call an unforgivable violation. Charles knew that it wasn’t only his fear of being mind-wiped again, that made Logan so adamant about keeping telepaths out of his mind, but Charles knew it was Wolverine’s way of trying to protect them from experiencing the images he knew they would find there. Having seen some of them, Charles understood why.

As he moved forward a bright light suddenly appeared before him, some distance away. Charles walked toward the light and, upon reaching it, he stepped into it and found himself standing within a dream. A memory that Logan’s psyche was about to play back for him in great detail. A dream centered in… the Danger Room.



TBC in Acts of Vengeance, pt 6





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